


Motor Oil & Burnt Rubber

by princedeadend



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Executive Shiro, Hand Jobs, Illegal Activities, M/M, MY BRAND, Sex on a Car, Street Racing, mechanic keith, on a car, smut and humor, that's correct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princedeadend/pseuds/princedeadend
Summary: Keith’s a mechanic that borrows (read: steals) his clients’ cars to drag race in the desert. Shiro’s a well-off executive who lacks the proper appreciation for what his rides can do past looking pretty. Keith gives Shiro a reason toreallyappreciate them.





	Motor Oil & Burnt Rubber

**Author's Note:**

> There's no reason for this other than the fact that I love grease monkey Keith and I needed him bent over the hood of a car that I'll never drive. 
> 
> Here are their rides for proper visualization:  
> [Shiro's Audi R8 post paint job](http://cdn.pinthiscars.com/images/audi-r8-black-wallpaper-2.jpg)  
> [Keith's Chevy Camaro](http://image.superchevy.com/f/188011169+w640+h426+q80+re0+cr1+ar0+st0/001-1969-camaro-ss-red.jpg)  
> [Hunk's Mustang Shelby GT500](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/39300000/2008-Shelby-GT500-SuperSnake-ford-39388901-2048-1536.jpg)  
> [Lotor's Bugatti Veyron](http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6123/5942717273_3805131f3a_z.jpg) minus the gold chrome accents (don't @ me you know he'd be this extra)

Far from a silver spoon, Keith’s dad always used to joke that he was born with a gearshift in his mouth. Sure, he’s always had an interest in and a knack for cars but it’s hard not to develop both when your pops runs a chop shop and you learn how to drive stick at the ripe old age of eleven. Keith had started riding high on the exhilaration of a lead foot early on. When he was brought home by the police at fourteen for drag racing, the first thing out of his dad’s mouth had been, “well, did he win?” The officers were not impressed. After they’d issued their warnings and left, Keith had pulled a stack of bills totalling around five hundred dollars out of his sneaker and shoved the wad into a hole in his mattress for safe keeping. Turns out tearing up pavement can be fairly lucrative when you know who to run with.

Unfortunately, when the feds started getting a little too close for comfort and his dad suddenly decided to go straight, he moved them to some no name town in the Arizona desert for a fresh start. Keith’s days consist of more navy blue, grease stained coveralls and tire patches and less efficiently disassembled European luxury cars he takes out for one last spin. You’d never think so but boy, do you start to miss the annoyance of disabling a lojack system real quick. The longing for the deep purr of an engine and an open road is expected.

It’s the disruption of the usual monotony of his day that has Keith doing a double take as a glossy black Audi R8 pulls up in front of the garage door where he’s leaned under the hood of a Toyota Camry that’s been on this earth longer than he has. _Is that a V10? Sounds like a V10_. He nearly overflows the windshield fluid reservoir as he wonders if this might be his apology from God. 

He tries not to look like he’s _too_ starved for German engineering and broad shoulders as a man with thighs thicker than his skull is wide eases out of the front seat far more gracefully than he’d expect someone of his build to. He’s clearly out of his element here on the edge of town where his sharp leather oxfords kick red dust up onto the cuffs of his charcoal slacks. Keith only hates himself a little bit when he sees the way the seams of a crisp white button up are screaming around biceps and his first thought is “anchor arms.”

Sometimes, God really does give with both hands.

The man’s eyes flick around the shop, eyeing the patron currently involved in a disagreement with his dad over what would be considered a fair price for a complete engine rebuild. That’s fine. Keith would rather take care of this one himself. “Be with you in just a minute,” Keith calls over his shoulder, smiling politely when big and beefy spots him and gives him a nod. He may or may not bend over a little farther than he needs to to recap the reservoir but is pleased when he catches the full once over he gets out of the corner of his eye. He can’t help himself. It’s been too long since he’s had the opportunity to work on a car that isn’t on a “Top 10 Safest Automobiles” list. It’s also been too long since he’s gotten laid and this is what some people might view as a two birds, one stone situation.

He drops the hood of the Camry and snags the keys from the office so he can get old lady Jones on her way. After enduring a surprisingly firm cheek pinching with a pained smile, he makes his way over to the Audi and attempts to rub the soreness out of his face. The owner is waiting patiently, seemingly amused by the way his father can’t seem to get this guy to understand that rebuilding an engine is going to take an amount of time and money that he doesn’t seem willing to accept.

It’s nearing the end of the day and Keith is sticky with sweat and grime under his coveralls. His long hair is curling at the ends and likely sticking up every which way. As he circles the car, he unzips the jumpsuit down to his waist and slips his arms free, sighing in relief as cool air hits his skin. He ties the long sleeves around his hips and pulls at his white undershirt to fan some air under the clingy fabric. His eyebrows shoot towards his hairline when he sees the side of the car he hadn’t been able to when it first came in. He locks eyes with meat man and whistles. 

“Sure did a number on her, didn’t you...?”

The guy huffs with a pout and it shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “Shiro. And I didn’t do anything. The alarm woke me up late last night but by the time I got out there, the damage was done and the other car was long gone. I couldn’t even find the mirror.”

Keith hums and starts going through a mental checklist. He’ll have to reattach the mirror, do some painting, some body work. His eyes dart back over to Shiro. _Like to do some body work on him_ , he thinks as he runs his hand along impressive scratches that begin at the back fender and end on through the front fender. He fingers the loose wires where the side view mirror used to be. It would be funnier if it wasn’t such a beautiful car. 

He’s gotta take it out at least once.

“So what’s the damage?”

“Well, I’ll have to order the mirror but for an Audi that’ll be a few hundred alone. There are some dents to work out and you’ll need paint so...I’d say roughly between $800 and $1100? I’ll see if I can get a deal on a mirror which would drop the overall cost.” Shiro’s grimacing but it is what it is. They do the best work in the area and the pricing is more than fair. 

He hashes out the rest of the details with Shiro and takes down his information so he can give him a call when the mirror comes in. Four days later, Matt is following him to the garage after work so he’ll have a ride back. The lot’s empty of customers by the time they get there and Shiro’s almost worried that Keith forgot until he sees him descending the stairs from the apartment above the shop in black jeans and a faded Motörhead t-shirt.

Keith hopes he doesn’t look overeager as Shiro drops the keys in his outstretched palm. He extends his other hand with a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

Shiro grins back and takes his hand, squeezing gently and holding for just a moment longer than necessary. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He ignores the look Matt’s giving him knowing full well he’s going to get an earful on the way home. 

Keith waves them off, fingers still tingling with warmth, but as soon as they’re out of view, he’s got the new mirror out of the box. It’s installed within an hour. There’s not much he can do about the scrapes or paint job before he needs to head out but hey, the car doesn’t have to _look_ good. It just needs to be fast.

Just as he’s finishing up, his dad peeks in on him. “Nice car.”

“Sure is.”

“Could get some real good money for it in pieces.”

“Don’t even think about it, old man.”

+

“Holy shit! Where the heck did you pick this up from?” Lance does a dramatic and wholly unnecessary slide across the hood of the yellow Shelby GT500 Keith’s parked next to. Hunk nearly has an aneurysm as he watches from the driver’s seat which is a totally justified reaction. The car isn’t his and if Hunk’s sister comes back from her deployment and finds her baby in less than pristine condition, she’ll have their heads. No doubt about it.

“Lance! Seriously?!” He climbs out of the car and quickly gives it a once over, checking the trio of black racing stripes for any scratches.

Lance waves him off. “Quit worrying. Keith could take care of it, no problem.”

“Sure could. But it’ll cost you,” Keith says pointedly.

“Not as much as this guy’s paying. Yeesh. What happened here?” Lance winces at the deep scrapes.

“Some asshole side swiped him. Ripped the mirror off along the way too.”

“A tragedy. How’d he end up at your humble establishment? You don’t get many customers with rides like this.”

“Tell me about it,” Keith mumbles absently as he watches two cars take off down the clear stretch of road. Tonight’s races are more for fun and showing off their wheels than money which is nice. Lotor and his posse won’t be around.

Lance saunters back around to the passenger side of the Shelby and rests his elbows on the roof of the car, chin resting in his hands. “Doesn’t matter much though. This baby’s still gonna outrun you.” He gives the car an affectionate pat. 

Hunk rolls his eyes and settles back into the driver’s seat. “When are you guys going to stop making a competition out of everything?”

“You do know we’re out here to drag race, don’t you? And a race implies that there’s a winner and a loser. This _is_ a competition.”

“Yeah, but these races don’t matter.”

“Hunk, buddy, my man, my dude, if there’s a chance for me to kick Keith’s ass, I’m gonna do it.”

Keith grins as Nyma finishes just before Rolo. Good. He’s never liked Rolo. He turns his attention back to his bickering friends. “You certainly try, don’t you?”

That gets Lance riled up. “I...you...I’ve beaten you before! Plenty of times!”

“Been a while though hasn’t it?” he shoots back with a smirk before he sinks into the car and turns the engine over, drowning out whatever insults and arguments are thrown his way under the roar of a fine piece of machinery.

He ends up leaving Hunk and Lance in the dust.

When Shiro picks the car up a few days later, he doesn’t think twice about the uptick in mileage.

+

“I don’t know, man.” Matt kicks the pebble they’ve been passing back and forth up the sidewalk. It skitters off into the road just a tad farther than he’s willing to go after it while he talks Shiro through his latest crisis. “You should have just asked him out. You clearly can’t get enough of his lithe frame and surprisingly firm arms glistening with sweat in the setting sun.”

Shiro sputters. “I never said that!”

“No, but I’m reading between the lines here.” 

“A little liberally if you ask me,” Shiro grumbles. “Isn’t that...you know, kinda skeezy? I feel like there’s an unspoken rule about not hitting on people in the service industry.” He jams his hands deeper into his pockets as they walk towards the coffee shop they stop by anytime Allura or Coran sends them out to the warehouses to check on shipments. Technically it’s Matt that gets the assignment but that doesn’t stop him from dragging Shiro along with him. Not that Shiro minds. He gets restless if he’s chained to his desk too long.

Matt shrugs. “I think that mostly applies to waitresses and retail workers. People who can’t escape or in this case, just punch you in the face or something. It’s a moot point anyway. You lost your chance. I mean, I guess you could always just drive into a wall and give yourself another reason to see him though if you’re that desperate.”

“I’m not desperate.” It’s not all that convincing.

“Shiro, you’ve read the owner’s manual for your car cover to cover four times since you picked it up two weeks ago. You have a dozen tabs open on your browser about engines and fuel injectors and you even have the shop’s Yelp page open. Did you find yourself getting jealous when you read Cassie P.’s five star review about how “the younger mechanic with the shaggy hair is so sweet and really cute?”

Shiro’s ears have gone scarlet. “I don’t. How did - ”

“Thought so. My point is that you just gotta drive your happy ass over there and ask the guy out.”

Shiro makes a pitiful whining noise as he follows Matt into the cafe and promptly freezes. There, not twenty feet away, is Keith in a red leather jacket sipping iced coffee. His hair is pulled back in a messy bun and sunglasses sit perched on his head. He elbows the tall, lanky guy next to him as they laugh about something he doesn’t hear. 

The chiming of the door catches their attention and Keith’s eyes widen when he recognizes Shiro. He grins around his straw. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” Shiro manages to force out. 

“Who’s your hot friend?” the other guy asks as he rests his arm on Keith’s shoulder and flashes a crooked smile. 

Keith shrugs him off with a grimace. “This is Shiro. Shiro, this is - ”

“The name’s Lance.” Lance sticks his hand out and Shiro shakes it still trying to get his bearings. “Oh, wait. You’re the guy with the rad car, right? Heard a lot about you, man.” Shiro doesn’t know how to interpret that statement or the accompanying eyebrow wiggle but he’s fairly certain Keith’s look of subtle distress is mirrored on his own face. 

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Oh, this is Matt.” He doesn’t know why he expected Matt to be anything but amused at the whole situation. They all exchange greetings and pause for Shiro and Matt to place their orders. While they wait, Lance lays into him with questions and comments like what Shiro thinks about that 3.5 second acceleration and isn’t the dual-injection engine great? Keith jumps in quickly and while Shiro recognizes the terms “torque”, “horsepower”, and “transmission”, he couldn’t tell you a single thing about what those stats mean in relation to his car besides “more horses means faster.” At least he thinks so. 

His attention quickly turns towards the way Keith’s eyes light up when he’s going off about the valvetrain, expressions animated. This is his wheelhouse. This is what he loves. Shiro can’t help but smile.That is until Lance poses a question about the seven-speed dual-clutch transmission and he and Keith are both looking at him expectantly. The best he can do is just kinda shrug. They narrow their eyes simultaneously but it’s Keith who speaks up first.

“You don’t know anything about your car, do you?”

Matt loud laughs at his side. 

“I do! I...it’s...fast.”

“Uh huh...” Keith raises an eyebrow waiting for him to continue. 

“Okay, fine! So I’m not a...car expert. But I like my car. Isn’t that enough?”

Lance plants his forehead on Keith’s shoulder. “God, you definitely shouldn’t feel bad about this one. You did that car a favor.” The words are mumbled but Keith glares at him anyway.

“Huh?”

The deflection is swift. “Your car’s lucky it has Keith here,” he claps Keith’s sternum for emphasis, “to really appreciate it in all its glory.” The lopsided smile makes a return. “And I’m sure Keith would be more than happy to see you and your car again anytime.”

Keith’s cheeks have gone a little pink which Shiro finds far too cute for someone who could probably definitely kick his ass. Matt nudges him which means he’s supposed to say something.

“Do you do paint jobs?” is what his brain spits out first.

This throws Keith and Lance off entirely. “You want a small town body shop to repaint a car that costs as much as a house?” 

Fuck. Now he’s gotta commit. “I could use a change and it’s cheaper to have it repainted than buy another.” Nice save.

“I mean, it’s borderline blasphemous but it can be done.” Keith’s eyes flick to Lance briefly and it’s clear they’ve just had a nonverbal exchange. About what Shiro doesn’t know. “Next weekend work for you?” 

“Uh, yeah. Perfect.”

“Cool. I guess I’ll see you then.” Keith winks at him and he and Lance take their leave.

Matt shakes his head as Shiro watches Keith disappear out of view with longing. “You’re fucking hopeless.”

+

The shop appears to be empty despite Fleetwood Mac crooning from a small stereo in the corner until he sees disembodied legs sticking out from under an SUV that’s obviously seen some shit judging by the multicolored patchwork body it’s sporting. One booted foot taps along lazily to the chorus of ‘Go Your Own Way’ and an arm shoots out reaching for the socket wrench lying just a few inches out of reach. Shiro only watches him struggle for a few seconds, smiling as he picks up the tool and deposits it into the outstretched hand.

“Thanks. You’re early.” Keith goes back to doing whatever it is he’s doing and lets his knees fall open as he works. 

Shiro tries not to think about how he’d like to settle between them with those legs wrapped around his waist or thrown over his shoulders. Instead, he clears his throat and leans against a large rusted toolbox and resists the urge to pick at the chipped red paint. He’d rather not admit that he’d been what most would consider a little too eager to get up before 9 am on a Saturday and drive to the outskirts of town. “Nothing better to do.” Keith snorts under the car. Shiro ignores him. “Not real busy here today, huh? I’m surprised.” 

“We only work every other Saturday. Dad wanted time for his own pet projects and I like my sanity.” 

Shiro raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t need a new paint job that bad. I could have waited.” 

Keith rolls out from under the engine and grabs the grease stained rag hanging out of his pocket to wipe his blackened hands. His hair is falling out of the ponytail from laying on his back and there’s a smudge across his nose where he must have thoughtlessly rubbed. “There’s a lot of prep work that goes into painting. Easier to do when I have the shop to myself. Fewer interruptions.” Keith pushes himself to his feet, wincing as his legs straighten. “And I don’t mind making an exception.” 

“So I’m an exception.”

Keith’s lips quirk up at the corners. “You tip well. And I like your car.” 

It’s Shiro’s turn to snort then. He hardly realizes his next words are out of his mouth before it’s too late to turn back. “That all you like?” 

Keith’s eyes flick up to meet his. There’s a challenge there but suddenly self-conscious as he is, Shiro stands his ground and refuses to break eye contact first. Keith’s tongue runs over his front teeth as he fights a grin. “Have you eaten?” 

It’s not the answer Shiro’s expecting. “What?” 

“I’m hungry and your car is staying here. Doesn’t look like you’ve phoned a friend so if you want, we can go for brunch and I’ll drive you back to your place or wherever.” 

“Brunch?” 

“Yes. I don’t know if you know this but even filthy mechanics like French toast and bottomless mimosas.”

+

Turns out Keith’s ride is a cherry red 1969 Chevy Camaro and it’s clearly his pride and joy. He’d spent the ride rattling off specs that yet again, go right over Shiro’s head. He’s far more focused on watching Keith anyway. Right hand on the wheel and left elbow resting out the open window, fingers drumming along the top to the same classic rock station the shop stereo is tuned to, he’s relaxed. In his element. His sunglasses are slipping down his nose as he talks animatedly about what a pain in the ass it had been to find all the parts to fix Red up. Keith mentioned buying her at a local auction. She was rusted and hadn’t been taken care of but with a little TLC, elbow grease, and more money than Keith would have liked to have spent, he’d returned her to her former glory.

It’s when Keith’s eyes settle on his that Shiro realizes he’d asked a question or made a comment he was supposed to respond to. “Uhh,” is the best thing he can come up with.

Keith rolls his eyes but there’s no malice in the gesture. “Your car is wasted on you, you know that?”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

They find out rather quickly that the small corner cafe they end up at doesn’t skimp on the champagne. While great for unclenching Shiro’s asshole, three mimosas in and it’s right about time to start oversharing. They’d made do with small talk long enough.

“So,” Keith begins as he swipes a corner of French toast through a pool of syrup, “what do you do?”

It’s a simple question. One that shouldn’t feel loaded but does anyway. He’s given the answer so many times now that he’s able to keep any bitterness buried. Shiro takes a sip of his mimosa anyway before replying. “Nothing too exciting really. I’m an executive at Altean Industries. We work with various forms of tech development and research. And before you make a comment about tech, I’ll go ahead and tell you now that I work on the business front. Also, it’s a different kind of tech so don’t give me any grief.”

Keith grins over the rim of his glass. “Fine, fine. So no cartel business then? No dumping people in ice baths after removing their kidneys to sell on the black market?”

“Nope. Just a regular ol’ white collar citizen.”

“Guess Lance owes me five bucks.”

Shiro chuckles. “What, you were taking bets?”

“Kind of,” Keith says around a mouthful and gestures with his fork. “He’s convinced your arm there has a built in gatling gun that you use to kneecap people who owe you money.”

“Wow, I’m just full of disappointment, aren’t I?” Shiro’s lips quirk with the sarcasm as he examines his prosthetic, flexing the fingers into a tight fist and relaxing them again. “Could be a fun new addition.” He turns his attention back to his food and sops up runny egg yolk with toast that’s just shy of burnt. His gaze lifts while he chews and he can see the curiosity in Keith’s eyes that haven’t yet left his exposed arm. He’s used to the looks by now and is honestly surprised Keith hasn’t asked about it yet. He supposes he might as well get it out of the way and clears his throat. “Drunk driver.” 

Keith’s brow furrows as he drags his eyes back up to Shiro’s face. “Hm?”

“A drunk driver hit me. Ran a red light and my arm just got...crushed. There’s only so much steel rods and pins can do and I was way past that. I’m lucky it wasn’t worse. My car was totalled. The radiator was practically sideways. I had been enrolled in a flight program to be a pilot but, well...”

“Holy shit. Sorry, I uh, I’m sorry.”

Shiro waves his hand. “I brought it up. It’s fine.” He drains his glass. “I didn’t drive for a long time after that.”

“And when you finally did, you sprung for an Audi.”

“Go big or go home, baby.” Shiro smiles when the uneasiness clears Keith’s face. “That was mostly Matt’s doing to be honest. I think his exact phrasing was ‘treat yourself’. But he was right. As he often is,” he adds begrudgingly. “I needed something that would make me want to get back on the road.”

“A wise man.”

“Don’t ever let him hear you say that.”

Keith laughs and pops a raspberry between his lips. “You should give racing a shot.”

“Speed demon, huh?”

Keith examines his nails with a small smile. “Something like that.” 

There’s definitely more to that response Shiro thinks but he can revisit it later. It’s his turn to dig. “Have you always been a mechanic?”

Keith’s nodding before he even begins to actually answer. “I was raised with the smell of motor oil and burnt rubber. It’s in the blood at this point, I guess. I mean, I had the typical aspirations of astronaut or something like that when I was little but,” he shrugs, “wrong tax bracket so mechanic it was. I like it though. I don’t mind the work or getting my hands dirty. I fixed up an old motorcycle with my dad when I was a kid. That’s what really got me started. It was a piece of shit but it was my piece of shit, you know?”

Shiro smiles as he imagines a scrawny, wild haired boy with dirt on his face. “A fixer from early on then.”

“Everything has worth no matter how beat up and broken.”

Shiro’s still turning those words over in his head when Keith pulls up to his modest (for the neighborhood at least) apartment building.

Keith whistles low. “I no longer feel bad about letting you pick up the bill but thanks again anyway.”

Shiro starts to shoot back a retort but when he turns his head, Keith’s lips are on his. The touch is soft, barely more than a simple peck, and he’s vaguely aware of a hand resting high on his thigh. By the time he’s able to react, Keith’s grinning softly, already leaned back into his own space and he takes the heavy clunk of the doors unlocking as his cue. 

“I’ll call you when your car’s ready. See you Tuesday.” And with that he’s off, leaving Shiro to wonder just how deep he’s in.

+

Lance leans against the Audi’s hood, arms crossed and wearing a look of the utmost disdain as he shakes his head at a group of girls fawning over a flashy Bugatti Veyron. “I will never get over how fucking extra Lotor is, man. Daddy’s money may buy nice cars but it sure as hell can’t buy taste, am I right?”

Neither Keith nor Hunk’s “are you serious?” faces are subtle. 

“What?”

Hunk touches his shoulder gently. “Lance, you do know who you are, right?” Keith buries a laugh in a cough.

“Listen. Say what you want but I would never ruin a car that’s already black and purple with ugly ass gold chrome detailing, alright? Jesus. So little faith.”

Keith sighs hating that he knows he’s about to lose to something so hideous. The R8’s impressive but Lotor’s got more than twice the horsepower. There’s only so much he can do and the trash talking is keeping his spirits up. “God, that thing is tacky. Dad could tear it apart and it would be a mercy killing.”

“He ever planning on going back into business?”

“Shit, for this he just might.”

Keith had been fully prepared to do his best and take his loss gracefully. He had expected it. What he hadn’t been prepared for was Lotor to decide losing wasn’t enough. He wanted Keith to crash and burn and was doing his damndest to ensure it happened. 

Twice already he’s been edged off the side of the road to avoid being side swiped and with the speedometer pushing 150mph, he’d prefer to be on solid asphalt where he has a smaller chance of skidding out and rolling a $160,000 dollar car down a canyon. 

He revs the engine in an attempt to pull ahead and away from Lotor, closing in on 180mph. He’s just about maxed out in the speed department. The Bugatti matches him easily but he’s at least back on pavement. They’re close, so close to the finish. Plaxum’s holographic boots catch the headlights in the distance where she’s waving a black and white checkered flag and for a moment, Keith thinks he just might somehow win this. Heart pounding and adrenaline flooding his veins, he bares his teeth, foot pressing the pedal more, just a little more... 

The scream of metal dragging against metal as he’s knocked sideways and completely off the edge of the road has his insides climbing his throat as he lets off the gas, turns into the skid and gently pumps the brakes, praying to anyone and everyone he’s not about to fucking die. “Shit, shit, shit!” In the darkness of the desert, he finally comes to a stop.

If he were in any other car, he would have fought back. He would have absolutely _ruined_ that fucking car. Breathing heavily and shaking all over, Keith realizes he bit his bottom lip open and his mouth is filling up with blood. He tries to get out of the car three times before he notices his seatbelt is still fastened. It’s only a minute or two before Lance and Hunk are sprinting up to him yelling if he’s alright. Keith leans out of the door and spits blood into the dirt. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand feeling like murder.

“I’m fine. I’ll be better once my foot’s lodged firmly down that fucker’s throat.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t think he’d go _that_ far.” Lance is glaring at the finish line where Lotor is doing donuts as the cherry on top of the asshole sundae.

Hunk surveys the car and the fact that he doesn’t wince too hard is reassuring at the very least. “You’re in better shape than he is. Didn’t fuck up the body too much. It’s mostly superficial. You got lucky.”

“Yeah, but he’s costing me free labor.”

“Next time. You’ll beat him next time.”

“Damn right, I will.”

+

Keith’s crouched down in front of the Audi giving it one last wipe down and quietly singing along to ‘Black Hole Sun’ when Shiro comes in. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, content with watching the muscles of Keith’s back and shoulders flex under his shirt until he starts to feel like he’s intruding.

“Hey.” His voice is low and soft but it still startles Keith and he staggers on the balls of his feet. “Ah, didn’t mean to sneak up on you. It looks really good.” He steps closer to get a better look at the finish and is happy he doesn’t hate it. 

Keith stands and tosses the cloth onto a growing pile on a work table. “I’m not normally a big fan of the matte black but this actually looks pretty nice.” 

When he turns around, Shiro’s eyes are immediately drawn to the scab on his lower lip that hadn’t been there before. Without thinking, he reaches out and ghosts his thumb along Keith’s mouth. “What happened here?” His brow furrows momentarily until he meets Keith’s surprised eyes and jerks his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to…” he rubs at the back of his neck as he trails off feeling heat creeping up his spine.

Keith ducks his head with a shy grin and walks over to the small office. He returns a moment later with a scrap of paper that he tucks into the front pocket of Shiro’s pants before he slips his finger through a belt loop and gently tugs Shiro forward. He leans up on his toes, plastering himself along Shiro’s body. “Call me,” he says low in Shiro’s ear with a pat to his thigh where his number is burning a hole in his leg next to his car keys.

+

Shiro’s on the way to work and in the middle of enthusiastically belting out the chorus of ‘All These Things That I’ve Done’ in the privacy of his car when he notices that his mileage has increased again and not by an insignificant amount. That’s twice now and both times right after -

His train of thought is derailed when he glances up from the dashboard and sees a fat gray cat lying in the middle of the road without a care in the world. He’s on the back streets to avoid traffic and not going very fast but he still has to slam on the brakes. On impulse, he swerves his freshly painted car to the side, sinks his fender directly into a bright yellow pole, and gets a face full of airbag.

He hates that his first thought is about how Matt is going to accuse him of doing it on purpose. He hates it more that the first time he works up the nerve to text Keith, it’s going to be to bring his car in. Again. The Killers continue to play over his sound system and boy does he wish someone would actually help him out.

He calls Allura to let her know he’s going to be late and after hanging up, he almost immediately receives a call from Matt where he does indeed accuse Shiro of hitting the pole on purpose. He goes to take a picture of the cat as evidence but it’s nowhere to be found. Naturally. When he can’t take the endless stream of laughter any longer, he hangs up and scrolls through his contacts, thumb hovering over Keith’s name and number. He sighs and figures he might as well get it over with.

[8:37 am]: **You’re going to kill me**  
[8:37 am]: **It’s Shiro btw**  
[8:41 am]: what did you do?   
[8:43 am]: **...I need to bring my car in.**  
[8:45 am]: seriously??  
[8:46 am]: you’re quickly becoming my best customer   
[8:46 am]: that’s not a compliment coming from a mechanic   
[8:47 am]: show me  
[8:51 am]: **[image]**  
[8:52 am]: ouch   
[8:53 am]: I’ll have to see your shame in person to give you a quote but it’s not looking good  
[8:54 am]: you can bring it by tonight or tomorrow before work if you want   
[8:56 am]: **I can come by tonight.**  
[8:57 am]: cool 

He’s not sure if the spirit grabs him or what but he decides to just go for it.

[9:03 am]: **Would you like to go to dinner?**  
[9:05 am]: **As a thanks and an apology for being a giant pain in the ass?**

There’s a long pause and Shiro’s wondering if he read all the signs wrong somehow. It wouldn’t be the first time.

[9:19 am]: yeah, that sounds nice   
[9:19 am]: we’re taking my car though   
[9:20 am]: bad rep for a mechanic to drive around in a shit car   
[9:21 am]: **You like my car :(**  
[9:23 am]: I like your car when you aren’t beating it to hell :))) 

He starts to ask about the mileage but chooses not to. For now.

+

Shiro pulls into the garage’s parking lot just as Keith is yanking down the roller doors to lock up for the day. It takes a minute for him to realize why he looks a little different. Keith’s hair is down out of its usual loose ponytail, curled around the nape of his neck and fluffy from being freshly washed. It’s longer than he thought it was and he has the sudden and intense urge to run his fingers through it.

Keith turns around and smiles before he sees the damage Shiro’s done and starts shaking his head instead. He has Shiro back into an empty spot and immediately crouches down to get a better look.

“You didn’t run into a pole as an excuse to actually use my number, did you?” 

Shiro crosses his arms, mouth twisted to the side. “There are cheaper and less headache inducing ways to do that.” 

“Oh? Then why haven’t you?” Keith asks, picking at some of the bright yellow paint that had transferred in the accident. When he can’t come up with an answer quick enough, Keith smirks at him over his shoulder, rises to his feet, and leans in to kiss Shiro on the cheek. “Let me grab my jacket and keys and we can go. I’m starving.”

Shiro watches him take the stairs to the apartment two at a time, eyeing the way his black jeans fit around his thighs and calves. He reappears a moment later, his dad following him out with a beer in hand. The older man takes a swig, gaze narrowed in on Shiro who’s not sure if he should wave or say hello or what.

“You be good to my boy, you hear? Have him home by 10.”

No wave then. Alright. It’s been a long time since he’s been given any sort of talk before a date but he knows the drill. The “yes, sir” rolls off his tongue without any hesitation.

“Dad, stop it.”

“What? You reckon just ‘cause you’re grown you think I can’t still tease your boyfriends?”

“He’s not...okay.” Keith raises his hands in surrender looking exasperated and perhaps mildly embarrassed as he decides it just isn’t worth arguing the point right now but it doesn’t stop Shiro from grinning in amusement.

“Y’all have fun and be good!” he calls after them and Shiro can’t help but quietly chuckle now. He’s still trying not to smile too wide once they’re in Keith’s car but he can’t help it.

“I like your dad.”

“Well that makes one of us then.”

Shiro’s smile softens and he fidgets with his hands absentmindedly. “He reminds me of my dad a bit. He always looked more serious than he actually was. He had the appearance of this really stoic, put together guy but he was never short of a joke. Would play pranks with me and my sister on our mom.” He clears his throat almost surprised at his words. He’s not typically one to share but talking to Keith is...easy.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Keith’s expression has also grown a little fonder. He keeps his eyes forward as he clears his throat and extends his hand, palm up, over the gearshift. 

Shiro’s eyes dart between the open hand and Keith’s carefully neutral face before he laces their fingers together between them. His hand is so much larger and he looks out the window to hide his pleased smile. “Someone’s feeling soft,” he comments while rubbing circles over Keith’s knuckles.

He turns his head to grin at Keith and is met with a familiar expression of open challenge. Keith raises an eyebrow and brings their joined hands to his lips. He kisses Shiro’s knuckles sweetly and loosens their grip so he can suck two of Shiro’s fingers into his mouth, tongue licking between the digits and teeth dragging against his skin.

“Oh.”

Hooded eyes watch as Keith’s tongue and lips continue to work his fingers, punctuating exaggerated wet noises with soft moans. Shiro struggles to swallow.

When they hit a red light, Keith releases Shiro’s hand with a lewd pop. “Still feeling soft?”

No. No, he most certainly is not. Shiro doesn’t hesitate to lean in and grab a fistful of Keith’s hair, pulling him close so he can feel that mouth on his instead. He tastes faintly of Big Red and smells like metal and eucalyptus. He’s vaguely aware of a hand palming at him through his pants and his legs part as much as they can in the confines of the car. He feels no shame in being as hard as he is already. Not with the little show he’d been given.

Their noses are pressed into each other’s cheeks at odd angles but when he gets his own hand between Keith’s legs, nothing could keep him from swallowing down the whines he makes in response. Shiro doesn’t give a single shit if anyone is watching them from another car but when a series of aggressive drawn out honks drives them apart, he couldn’t tell you how long the light’s been green. Shiro reluctantly settles back into his own space, breathing heavily and laughing when Keith flips the person off behind them.

He keeps his hand on Keith’s thigh, squeezing occasionally until he can’t help it anymore. It’s ridiculous how giddy he feels, how much he _wants_. It’s like he’s right back in middle school with a stomach full of butterflies every time he passes the boy who lives four streets over in the halls. He leans over and mouths at Keith’s jaw, trails kisses down his neck, and sucks a small mark into the soft skin below his ear. Shiro notes the way Keith’s lips part and he gasps when he nips his ear lobe.

“You’re going to make me wreck this car,” he groans.

“Would you stop giving me shit about my accidents if you did?”

Shiro can feel the smile as he kisses Keith’s cheek. “Never.”

“Then I’m not all that concerned.”

“Asshole.”

Shiro hums against Keith’s jugular, fingers working at the front of Keith’s jeans as Keith pulls into an empty spot on a side street around the corner from the bougie restaurant where they have a reservation in 8 minutes. As soon as the car is in park, Shiro’s face is in his lap and Keith is panting and banging on the roof liner while he’s sucked off better than he has been in months. When Keith’s fingers curl into the short hair at the back of his head, Shiro picks up the pace, moaning when Keith’s hips buck and nearly choke him. It’s not until Shiro swallows around his cock that he cries Shiro’s name, voice breaking with feeling, and comes down his throat. 

Shiro pulls his mouth off, lips shiny with spit, and grins at Keith’s blissed out face. His eyes are heavy and his cheeks and nose are flushed red.

“Holy shit.” The words are barely more than an exhale and Shiro tries not to look too impressed with himself. He can’t help it. There’s a certain amount of pride that comes with getting someone off. Even more so when it comes to getting _Keith_ off, he thinks.

Shiro snorts and pats Keith’s thigh twice. “Come on. We’re late.”

Keith’s brow furrows and he gestures vaguely at Shiro’s crotch, expression still somewhat unfocused. “Don’t you want me to, y’know, return the favor?”

“I’m not sure you’re even going to make it through the appetizer at this point.”

He can’t argue with that. “Fine. Then I owe you.”

+

Keith’s been eyeing his watch since their chilled salad plates were set before them, sneaking glances more and more frequently as the night’s worn on. “Wow, guess your dad really wasn’t kidding about getting you home by 10, huh?” Shiro comments over the rim of his wine glass.

It had made him self-conscious at first. Wondering if he was as boring as he thought he must be to someone like Keith. But the conversation was good. Came easily. Keith teased him for being high maintenance when he sampled a wine before accepting the bottle, raised eyebrow accompanied by a nudge to his leg under the table. Shiro had responded by setting his hand over Keith’s empty glass when the waiter turned to fill it claiming that since he was driving, Shiro supposed he should indulge for the both of them. Just to be safe. The nudge turned into a kick to the shin that made Shiro yelp, drawing the attention of nearby diners while Keith snatched Shiro’s glass and took a long sip while feigning innocence.

They’d talked about playing high school football. Shiro had been the quarterback and captain, naturally, and Keith had been a running back. Though he’d been on the smaller side, he was squirrely and moved fast. It kept him out of trouble for the most part by letting him work out his aggression and abundant energy.

Shiro learns that Keith is more of a dog person because of allergies but it doesn’t stop him from setting out cans of tuna and playing with the large orange maine coon that comes around the garage every so often. When he was little, he’d had a long-eared hound dog named Cujo, which was the result of a father who wasn’t ever particularly strict about what his son watched as a child. 

All the while, Keith is subtly checking the time. Apparently not that subtly though and now that the self-consciousness had passed, Shiro’s feeling more suspicious than anything. He’s not an idiot and longshot though it may be, he thinks he might know what Keith’s up to. It’s just a matter of getting confirmation.

“Sorry. It’s not you,” Keith says knowing he’s been caught. “Dad was just giving you a hard time.” He looks up a little sheepishly. “I promised Lance and one of our friends that I’d help them out with something later. Trust me, I’d much rather spend the night with you but if I don’t show, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He reaches his hand forward on the table so his fingertips just brush against Shiro’s. “But I’d like to do this again.”

Shiro watches their fingers slip tentatively together in a loose hold and lets his eyes follow the line of a deceptively delicate wrist to a lean arm, sharp collar bones, and an expression looking far too shy for someone who was thanking the Lord for his mouth a little less than two hours ago. Shiro squeezes his fingers gently. “Me too.” He wonders if he’s perhaps just overthinking the whole situation. But then Keith’s phone chimes and he’s noticed that Keith tends to wear his feelings clearly so the hint of a smirk that crosses his face as he reads the text, however brief, doesn’t go unnoticed.

He has to know.

Shiro’s quiet, reserved, “too good for gossip” image is a complete and total facade. Anyone who knows him well knows he’s a nosy little shit and overthinking or not, he’s determined to find out if his suspicions are correct. Which is how, after a heated goodnight kiss in front of his apartment, he ends up following a good few car lengths behind Keith away from the edge of town and out into the desert to God knows where.

He’d felt somewhat ridiculous swapping out his blazer for a black leather jacket and can clearly imagine Matt giving him a once over with his fingers arranged in an “okay” and sarcastically saying, “aesthetic.” But it had felt right. It’s what doing recon late at night on his recently acquired Ducati XDiavel had called for. And if he happened to be humming the Mission Impossible theme song under his breath, well, so be it.

He’d definitely felt ridiculous lurking in the shadows in an alley around the corner from the garage a short while later. His car was still in the same spot he’d left it before dinner and only the faint blue glow from a tv was visible through the apartment windows. Maybe he was wrong and was just being weird.

Shiro had been ready to head home when he heard the familiar chirp of his car’s alarm deactivating and then there was Keith trotting down the stairs. Staple red jacket hanging over his shoulder and hair back in its usual messy ponytail. As he’d gracefully slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the engine over with a satisfying purr, Shiro couldn’t decide how he felt. Still can’t as he keeps his eyes on the taillights a few cars ahead of him.

Logically, he knows he should be pissed off. Keith has been using him for his car after all. But despite turning off the main highway thirty miles out and starting down a narrow road, he’s more curious than anything. There’s a large group of cars and trucks and bikes scattered around just a bit farther ahead that illuminate a long stretch of clear road where two cars are poised to take off into the night. Even from this distance he can hear the roar of the engines and the wind whips the smell of gasoline and the burn of rubber on asphalt under his helmet. It’s hitting him now that he really isn’t sure what it is he’s getting into and he jerks, nearly toppling himself, at the scream of tires. He watches one of the cars fishtail slightly on the acceleration and a surreal feeling like he could be on a movie set washes over him.

He was right. He has no idea what to do with this information now that he has it but it’s validating nonetheless to know he wasn’t just being paranoid. Between the mileage increase and muttered comment Lance had made, Shiro figured that joyrides were the most likely explanation. But this...this is much more than what he was expecting to find. 

Shiro slows down and watches as Keith weaves through the crowd, taking an empty spot near the front of the group next to a bright yellow Shelby. He spots Lance perched on a folding lawn chair next to a bigger guy in an orange headband. He’s leaned forward on his knees when Keith gets out but stands to fist bump him before they’re both pulled into a crushing hug by the stranger. 

The big guy seems to notice the damage to his car first, releasing his friends so he can gesture wildly at the dent, mouth wide in shock. Keith immediately grimaces and shrugs, arms limp looking completely exasperated. Lance laughs deep, head thrown back and hand on his chest as he cackles. Shiro can’t hear them over the Kendrick Lamar pounding out of the back of someone’s trunk that’s been upgraded with a customized sound system but he feels the heat flood his face under the cover of his helmet. He’s glad no one can see but a little bit of irritation is bleeding into his fascination.

He takes a moment to survey his surroundings and flips his visor up, unwilling to fully remove his helmet just in case he’s spotted or needs to make a quick getaway. There are lots of flashy cars all lined up as if on display and in a way they are. There are your standard luxury cars like his but others are decked out in lights, hydraulics, various screens installed in the back of seats. MTV immediately comes to mind. People mill about complimenting or one-upping each other, laughing while they lounge in chairs and casually watch the race with drinks in hand. He definitely smells weed somewhere in the mix.

“Damn. Nice bike, bro.”

Shiro’s attention shifts to a guy that had just pulled up next to him. Despite how out of place he feels, he hopes he at least doesn’t look it. “Ah, thanks.” He glances back towards his car but it’s no longer where it was. Lance and the other guy haven’t moved and it takes him a few seconds to spot Keith pulling up to the line next to a bright green car where he can see a girl with long blonde pigtails through the open window.

“I’m more of a Harley guy myself. They’re classics, you know?”

Shiro would have been just fine feigning interest and faking his way through a casual conversation about motorcycle preferences but the guy has Shiro hammering that “abort” button when he starts asking what Shiro thinks about how the Ducati measures up in comparison to a Triumph or an Ecosse. He manages to dodge having to go into too much detail by sticking to what he knows, which is admittedly not a whole lot but it’s enough. That is until conversation turns towards engine upgrades and god, what is it with everyone and the goddamn specs?

He can clearly imagine Keith rolling his eyes and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear before crossing his arms and heatedly lecturing him about how the engine capacity of the twin-cylinder Testastretta DVT 1262 is superior to the Testastretta 1200 in both design and performance. It was a selling point at the dealership that had largely gone over his head but he’d nodded and arranged his face into something quietly impressed. Keith would have seen through him immediately and likely called him on it but it wouldn’t have deterred him any from wanting to bend him over the handlebars. 

Probably would have made him want it more if he’s being honest. He knows what he’s about at this point in life. 

By the grace of a god that must think he’s been through enough, he’s spared a whole lot of fumbling and bullshitting by the revving of engines and whoops and hollers from the crowd that’s gathered. All eyes are on the matte black Audi and lime green Challenger Hellcat separated at the starting line by a tall, broad woman who looks like she could snap Shiro’s spine over her knee. The rumble of engines as the drivers egg each other on drown out the woman’s shouts as she counts them down, black and white flag waving theatrically. Shiro was honestly convinced that drag racing was for movies only but here he is, unable to keep from wincing when the cars peel out, tires squealing.

Regardless of the fact that Keith has essentially stolen his car a total of three times now, he can’t tamp down the excitement bubbling in his chest as he watches his car fly down the road. It’s not like he’s a stranger to pushing the speedometer on an empty expressway but this? This isn’t a push. This is a direct punch to the chest that quickens his breathing and has his adrenaline climbing. There’s a fine line between maintaining control and finding yourself at the mercy of 1.8 tons of aluminum and carbon fiber and Keith rides that line beautifully. Alongside the roar of the engines, Shiro can hear his pulse in his ears, hardly aware of his lips moving in a murmured chant of, “go go go.” He can’t tear his eyes away as Keith continues to pull away from the other car. She never stood a chance.

Shiro’s not sure if he ever did either.

As soon as Keith blows past the checkered flag, Shiro’s whooping just as loud as everyone else, smile wide and bright, invigorated to his core. He’s feeding off the crowd’s energy and no longer feeling out of place. The audi makes a wide loop and returns back to the starting line, circling back around in a polished skid and Keith emerges with a grin, face flushed. It’s the urge to run to him, gather Keith up in his arms, and chase that flush down his neck with his lips and teeth and tongue that has him sobering from the adrenaline high. He’s supposed to be angry. Should probably feel hurt, lied to, used.

But he’s not and he doesn’t. Not really. He wants an explanation. Will definitely need an explanation but he’s willing to hear Keith out. But not here. Not right now. He shakes his head yet again wondering what he’s gotten himself into but he smiles anyway as he flips his visor down and takes off with one last glance behind him.

+

The first thing he does is call Matt. He’s back at the garage and all the lights are turned off which he hopes means he won’t have an accidental run in with Keith’s dad. He may not be too worried about dealing with Keith but his old man is another story entirely. Something about him gives Shiro the impression that he may or may not be capable of killing a man with his bare hands and he’s not all that curious to find out which side of the line he falls on. Matt takes the discovery well. Too well perhaps.

“At least that car is seeing the action it deserves. Pretty fucked up though. You gonna call the fuzz?” 

“I...don’t know. He’s really good. I don’t even think I’m mad. He made it look really cool.” 

“It’s hard to make street racing look uncool, Shiro. Come on, man. So what are you gonna do?” 

“Well, right now I’m outside the shop waiting for him to get back so I can talk to him.” 

“Whoa, the dude races cars in the desert that are essentially stolen. He probably runs with a tough crowd. You sure you’re not about to get shot?” Shiro snorts at the thought of Lance ever being considered a “tough crowd.”

“I highly doubt Keith is going to shoot me, Matt. It’ll be fine.” He takes a moment to think about how he’s 20 miles out of the city in what is essentially the boondocks in the middle of the night. He’s seen Unsolved Mysteries. You can hide a body anywhere in the desert and it might never be found. And how well does he really know Keith? “Actually, you know what? Now I’m not 100% sure so thank you for planting that horrible thought in my mind.” The flash of lights turning the corner and quickly approaching has his pulse rocketing. “Oh shit, those are my headlights. I’ll call you back.”

“You might want to leave me on in case you get murdered. What’s Keith’s last name?”

“Uh...I don’t know.”

“Shiro, you’re going to die. How am I supposed to help a dead man?”

“Shut up. I’ll call you later.”

“You don’t know tha- ” Shiro hangs up on him before he can finish the sentence just as light floods over him. Keith immediately slams on the brakes, tires screeching in protest at the sudden stop. The windows are tinted and with the headlights shining in his eyes, Shiro can’t make out his expression which is a shame. It would have been amusing to see Keith, ever confident and composed, on the verge of shitting bricks. Truly a shame. Shiro crooks his finger, beckoning him closer. There’s a moment of hesitation before the car starts moving again, careful as it approaches the garage. 

Keith kills the engine and with the lights no longer blinding him, Shiro’s able to see that he’s being watched very cautiously. His movements are slow and deliberate as the door swings open and Keith steps out. He almost looks calm but the clenched jaw betrays him.

“Hey.”

Instead of answering, Keith glances around like he’s expecting a SWAT team to have lasers aimed at his chest any second now.

“Relax. I didn’t call the cops.”

Well that certainly seems to surprise him. His eyes narrow in confusion. “You didn’t?” 

“No. Nice race though.” 

His eyebrows creep towards his hairline. Ah, he wasn’t expecting that either. “You saw?” 

“Yep. I uh, you’re good. Really good.” _Don’t sound too impressed, idiot._ “Didn’t know my car could move like that.” 

Keith drags his hands down his face as tension starts to ooze out of his pores. “I don’t know why I’m even surprised at this point.” 

Shiro shrugs. “Me either.” He rubs at the back of his neck unsure if he really wants to say what he’s thinking but fuck it. There’s no way he can make this night any weirder. “I’m glad I went. It was uh, kinda hot,” he finishes lamely. 

That gets Keith’s attention. He peeks at Shiro through his fingers before lowering his arms, eyebrow cocked. “Oh yeah?” There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth but he keeps it in check as he closes the distance between them in a few slow steps. Keith’s leaning in to Shiro’s space and he can smell mint juniper shampoo and the faint scent of the garage that’s always present.

Shiro can feel whatever resolve he may have had quickly collapsing as he fights down the urge to pull Keith closer. It’s a fight he’ll ultimately lose and he knows this but it makes him feel marginally better to at least try not to cave to the man who ran off to the desert in his car. His eyes drop to Keith’s mouth and his murmured confirmation is lost to chapped lips that part for him on impact. His hands immediately find a place at Keith’s neck and in his hair, back hitting brick when Keith crowds against him, mouth moving hungrily against his. 

His fingers curl into Shiro’s jacket as if he’s trying to get closer and he slips a leg between his thighs pressing just hard enough that Shiro grunts and moans softly, hips rolling in search of more friction. He’d be more embarrassed about being half hard already if he wasn’t painfully aware of how many times he’s rubbed one out to scenarios just like this. Keith’s palm runs down his chest and stomach, stopping once he reaches the edge of Shiro’s pants. He drags his fingertip from one hip to the other, smiling against Shiro’s lips when his stomach flutters from the light touch. Keith deftly pops the button and slips his hand inside, cupping Shiro’s length before giving it a good squeeze that has Shiro choking on air.

Shiro pulls back so their foreheads touch and he can watch Keith roughly jerk him off. “What if -oh, _fuck_ \- what if someone sees?”

The way Keith’s fist loosens and slows just slightly almost makes him regret even asking in the first place. “Shiro, I borrow” “-steal-” “cars and race them for money. You really think I’m worried about someone seeing me give you a handjob?” 

“Fair enough,” Shiro grits out. He buries his face in the crook of Keith’s neck, leaving marks between moans that grow steadily louder, needier as pressure builds at the base of his spine and pools deep in his belly until he’s only capable of murmuring Keith’s name in his ear over and over, body stilling, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder when his cums all over Keith’s hand.

Shiro groans as he watches Keith licks his fingers clean, pink tongue cleaning up his mess. His spent dick twitches as Keith swallows down the last of it, eyeing him from under thick lashes. Shiro grabs a fistful of black hair, pulls him in close and kisses him roughly while Keith puts his softening cock neatly back into his pants. He can feel how hard Keith is against his thigh, rocking against him, little sighs of desperation and _want_. Shiro slows their kissing until it’s only just the sliding of lips. He cups Keith’s face gently in his hands and gives him a single chaste kiss.

“Call me when you want to show me what my car can do out there.” 

“Wh- ”

He gently extricates himself from Keith’s arms and grabs the helmet he left hanging on the Ducati’s handlebars. He snaps it in place with a wink and mounts his bike. 

Keith motions towards the bike with his chin, arms crossed. “You don't know anything about _that_ either do you?”

“Not really,” he replies with an honest smile and takes off into the night and back into the city leaving Keith high and dry.

When Shiro returns to pick his car up a few days later, he’s not charged for a bit of work but he leaves a large tip anyway.

+

Shiro’s out for a late night jog, too restless for sleep, when his phone rings. He recognizes the number immediately. Has been staring at the digits for the past week waiting for a text, a call. Wondering if he should reach out first. He slows to a walk and picks up on the fourth ring, breath a little ragged.

“Whoa, did I uh, interrupt something?”

“Just a run.”

“Well that’s significantly less interesting.”

Shiro huffs into the receiver with a partial laugh. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Keith pauses to clear his throat, “just wondering if you were serious about seeing what your car can do.” He sounds uncertain but a little hopeful.

“I meant what I said.” And he did. Does. But he also hasn’t gotten a ticket since he got caught speeding at the age of 19. Always wears his seatbelt. Checks his mirrors everytime he gets into a car. This is a whole other level for him.

Keith’s definitely perked up. “Okay, cool, yeah. Then meet me at the garage at 9 on Friday.” He can hear the smile in Keith’s voice and can’t keep from smiling in return.

“It’s a date.”

+

“Are we going to a race or a board meeting?”

Shiro lifts his arms and looks down at the slate pants and light blue button up. “I got stuck at the office late and didn’t have time to change. Why? Am I going to look weird?” 

Keith just laughs. “You look like a fucking narc.” Shiro rolls his eyes and grumbles to himself as he fastens his seatbelt. 

They spend the first half of the drive listening to the radio and sneaking glances at each other until Keith finally speaks up.

“So what gave me away?”

That throws Shiro off. He’d been expecting this particular conversation to be like pulling teeth. “Odometer.”

“I knew I should have rolled it back,” Keith mutters.

“Can you even do that if it’s digital?”

“Yup.”

“Isn’t that a felony?”

“Yup.” His lips twitch at Shiro’s look of disbelief. “I thought about it. Didn’t think you’d notice. Assumed you were probably one of those people who drove a luxury car until they got bored with it and then upgraded. Possible felony didn’t seem worth the risk just in case. Guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Well, you know what happens when you assume. It makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.”

“Sure does.”

“How long have you been doing this? Stealing cars and racing?”

“Uhh, I started racing when I was...fourteen? Yeah. And - ”

“Fourteen?!”

“What? I learned how to drive when I was eleven.” He ignores the mumbled question about how he reached the pedals. “Started borrowing cars when I was seventeen. I say borrow because by the time I got into them, they’d already been stolen. I started racing for extra money on the side. Especially after dad shut down the chop shop. That’s where the cars went after I’d taken ‘em out for a last ride.”

Shiro’s just shaking his head at this point as they turn off the main road and work their way towards a group of bright lights and the pulse of a beefed up sound system.. “Like father, like son, huh?” He gets a nonchalant shrug and a casual “pretty much” in response.

They pull up next to a familiar yellow car and he recognizes the big guy in a varsity jacket he’d seen last time leaning against the hood talking to Lance. Keith doesn’t wait for him before he flings the door open and steps out. Shiro takes a deep breath, before following. He’s suddenly nervous and finding himself wanting to make a good impression and as he eyes their hoodies and ripped jeans, he feels less sharp and more...old.

“Ohoho, someone got caught!” 

“I told you I did.” 

“You could have been kidding.” Lance’s eyes flick to Shiro and the glint in his eye has Shiro bracing himself. “Yo, Shiro. I hear you liked what you saw last time you came out to join us.” Shiro suspects that at least half of what comes out of Lance’s mouth is innuendo and should be accompanied by a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

He opens his mouth to respond but Keith beats him to it. “He sure did.” Shiro can only shrug and nod in agreement. There’s no use in arguing. It’s true.

“C’mon, Lance. Give him a break.” Headband smiles at him warmly and extends a large hand. “I’m Hunk. I’d apologize for Lance but I think you already know exactly how he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Keith says dryly.

“So Shiro, know much about racing?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t even know how to drive his car.”

Shiro ignores that comment but is pleased when Hunk punches Lance in the arm. He scratches at the back of his head as he tries to think of anything relevant. “Uh, I’ve seen The Fast and the Furious one through five.”

“What about six, seven, and eight?”

“There are eight of those movies now?”

“And a ninth coming out next year.”

“What do they even have left to do?”

They all just kind of shrug at each other until Lance claps Keith and Shiro on the shoulders and gestures with his chin towards the tall girl Shiro had seen last time who’s waving them down. “Hunk’s special lady friend is calling you.”

Hunk’s face goes red. “Shay’s not my _special lady friend!_ ” His voice drops to a flustered but insistent whisper.

“No, but she could be,” Lance says with a big smile and friendly wave to Shay. His smile drops when he sets his eyes on who drives up next to her. “Ugh. Don’t look now but you’re racing Lo-douche again.”

“Looks like he’s got some new wheels.”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Hubris got that car impounded and I guess daddy got tired of putting up with his shit and paying off everyone and their mother to keep him out of trouble.”

Keith’s eyes narrow and Shiro can practically feel the clear rage rolling off of him in waves. 

Hunk eyes them nervously. “Are you sure you want to bring Shiro for this? Last time…”

“I’m going.” Hunk frowns at Shiro and Lance doesn’t look too thrilled either. Even Keith seems to be worrying his lip but he’s already come this far. He won’t back out now. “I want to go. It’s my car. I’m going.”

Keith eyes him warily then but nods. The Porsche Turbo S is far more manageable. It’ll be a tight race but it’s nothing like the Bugatti. His sharp gaze turns back to his friends and he plasters a determined grin on his face. “He can go fuck himself if he thinks I’m going to let him do what he did last time. It’ll be fine.”

“That’s the spirit.” Lance winks at him and shoves them towards the car with matching whacks to the rear. “Put him in his place.” 

As they fasten their seatbelts, Hunk leans on the open window and wishes them luck, tugging Shiro’s strap to make sure it’s tight across his lap and Shiro can’t help but wonder for the dozenth time what is it he’s gotten into. His nerves must be showing as they join the other car at the line because Keith squeezes his fingers gently. Shiro’s smile doesn’t hide a hard swallow and Keith searches his face for just a moment as if questioning Shiro before he leans in and kisses him. They haven’t talked about where they stand but all Shiro can think about is how much he’s missed this and that almost seems strange in a way considering what little he’s had to miss in the short time that they’ve known each other. But there’s something about the ease that comes with being with Keith. 

“Ready?” The word is mumbled against his lips.

Shiro kisses him softly once more and brushes their noses together. He stares with all the warmth he can muster into Keith’s indigo eyes, the image of romance and devotion. “Don’t destroy my car. Also, I don’t want to die,” he murmurs sweetly.

Keith snorts and shoves his face away with a roll of his eyes but he’s smiling. At least for a moment. Shiro turns his head to see what’s sent his mood south so quickly. A man with long white hair and a pointed chin sneers at them out of his open window.

“I see you’ve brought along some company. In need of a more up front and personal audience for your loss?”

Keith gives him the finger with one hand and rolls the window up with the other without bothering to give him a response. The relaxed state they’d coaxed each other into is gone and now Keith is staring down the road, fingers curled hard around the wheel, and glaring daggers out of the corner of his eye. The engine revs menacingly and Shiro’s starting to question whether he should have taken Hunk a little more seriously.

“Why do you hate this guy so much?”

“He’s an asshole and he ran me off the road last time I raced him.”

“Oh.”

The blandness of the response irritates him. “In _your_ car. Remember my lip?”

_That_ seems to light the fire Keith was hoping for. Shiro’s lips twist and he shoots a scathing look at Lotor. “Kick his ass.”

Shay walks between the cars, flag in hand. She smiles encouragingly at Keith and mouths a silent “good luck” which is enough to get Keith to take a deep breath and release his stranglehold on the wheel. It’s small but he returns the smile.

Shiro’s eyes ping-pong between Keith and Lotor as Shay begins the count. The sound of the engines whining, ready to take off at a moment’s notice, drives his heart rate up and he doesn’t even have a chance to process that that flag has come down before he’s slammed back into his seat as Keith shifts into gear. His hands immediately reach for the center console and the door’s armrest, feet planted firmly in the floor mats. This is it. This is how he dies. 

But beneath the fear of certain and imminent death is a feeling he hasn’t felt in years. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed the adrenaline rush, how empty he’d felt in the absence of the flood of epinephrine to his bloodstream. The steady pound of his pulse in his ears is a tune that picks at abandoned ambitions and threatens a swift descent into nostalgia where he’s strapped into a flight simulator reading assorted atmospheric gauges with a control panel at his fingertips. Who could have known that it would be Keith that took him flying again?

They’d gotten a headstart on Lotor putting them ahead by a full second but Keith doubts it’ll last long. There’s a whole two mile stretch of road to cover and you’d be surprised how much can happen in the seconds it take for the cars to eat up all that asphalt. Keith pushes the car through the next couple of gears, engine screaming all the way, but the Porsche won’t be left behind easily. 

He eyes the other car creeping up alongside them in the mirror, throws the car up another gear and inches over towards the side of the road to avoid being hit, clenching his jaw as Lotor matches their speed side-by-side. Keith’s foot falters slightly on the gas unsure how willing he is to endanger Shiro.

“Don’t slow down.”

“He’s going to fuck up your car.”

“I know a good mechanic. Stay on him.”

The response isn’t at all what Keith’s expecting and he looks away from the road just long enough to see that even though Shiro’s white-knuckling the “oh shit” handle, his eyes are bright and there’s an expression on his face he’s never seen before. He looks...alive.

Keith licks his teeth, nodding. He’s been warned. They’re struck almost immediately as Lotor again attempts to run them off the road. It’s a solid enough hit that it makes them wince but Shiro’s leaned forward so he can glare around Keith at the offender as Keith pushes back. The cars are pressed side to side and neither of them is thinking about what kind of work will need to be done when this is all over. Lotor pulls away first and the side mirror comes with him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not the mirror! Come on!” Well, one of them might be thinking about the work.

Keith would laugh but Lotor is coming at them again. This time, Keith beats him to it and strikes first and hard. It’s enough to send the Porsche into a wobble that forces Lotor to either hit the brakes or risk spinning out. Watching his open-mouthed scream of rage in the rearview mirror is one of the most satisfying things he’s seen in a while. 

“Holy shit.” Shiro turns and looks out the rear window, eyebrows high as Keith speeds past Plaxum with a fist pump and begins to slow down to make the return back to the starting line. “We won.” Shiro sounds like he might be in disbelief. “Keith, we won.” 

Keith’s foot hits the brakes with a shout that’s silenced with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue when Shiro grabs his face. He watches out of one eye as the car comes to a complete stop before he starts kissing back, hands latching onto the collar of Shiro’s button up. The way Shiro sucks his bottom lip into his mouth before sinking his teeth into it while one hand tugs at his ponytail has Keith itching to ride Shiro right there in the front seat but now’s really not ideal. That’s alright. There will be other times.

They finally part, both breathing heavily and the smile Shiro’s wearing has Keith’s stomach doing flips. “I want to do that again.”

Oh, there will _definitely_ be other times.

+

It’s coming up on three in the morning by the time they get back to the garage. They’d stayed to watch the rest of the races and down a few beers before brief kisses snuck shyly when they didn’t think Lance or Hunk were watching weren’t enough. They were sent off with wolf whistles anyway.

They’re leaned against the side of the car while Shiro listens to Keith talk about how Hunk and Lance have been best friends for years. It had actually been Hunk who’d gotten Lance into the racing scene surprisingly. Keith and Hunk were friends first, bonding through their fairly easy-going natures and a preference for working with their hands. He’d butted heads with Lance though. Still does of course. But once he’d gotten to know him as more than a cocky loudmouth, had gotten to know how encouraging and quick-witted he actually is, they’d gotten along much better. 

Keith’s expression had turned fond and while Shiro feels like it might not be his place to ask, he’s curious and wants to make sure he’s not getting too needlessly invested even though it’s far too late for that. “Anything there?”

“What? With Lance?” He snorts. “No. We got drunk and made out once but that’s it. I don’t even think we could keep straight faces. Too weird.”

Shiro nods and hums in acknowledgement. “Good.” His eyes widen slightly. “I mean, good that you guys could, uh, still be friends. That’s good.” He doesn’t miss Keith’s smirk.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Smart, polite, gainfully employed,” he pauses to give Shiro a once over, “a body anyone would kneel for.” Keith turns to the side, hip pressed into the door of the car and elbow propping his head up on the roof. “How are you still single? Unless you aren’t…”

Shiro mirrors his posture so they’re face to face, almost close enough to share breaths. “I am.”

“Good.”

Shiro closes the distance, hands immediately gripping slim hips, thumbs rubbing circles into bone as they kiss messily. Needily. Keith’s arms are around his neck pulling him closer and he can already feel his hardness growing against him. Shiro’s hands smooth over Keith’s ass, squeezing once before sliding to his thighs, lifting him easily as Keith gasps into his mouth and wraps his legs around Shiro’s waist.

Shiro pulls back with a sudden thought. “Where’s your dad?”

“Vegas. Don’t talk about my dad right now.”

Satisfied this night won’t end with his pants around his ankles and a shotgun aimed as his chest, he guides them around to the front of the car and lays Keith down on the still warm hood. The delicate column of Keith’s neck tastes like salt and Shiro sucks bruises into pale skin that blossom like falling petals across his collarbones. 

Keith’s legs are still wrapped tightly around Shiro’s body and he uses that leverage to roll his hips up, moaning loudly when Shiro presses them back down onto the hood and grinds against him harshly. Shiro shoves Keith’s shirt up needing to feel more. Taste more. He presses kisses along ribs while his thumbs work over nipples already hardened by the cool night air. His skin glows under the dim light of a lone street lamp too far away to illuminate them fully. 

Shiro’s lips move down, tongue dipping into his belly button and he can feel how hard Keith is by the way his length is pressing against the base of his throat. As much as he wants to draw this out, to really tease Keith, he doesn’t have the patience for it. Not this time. Not with the way Keith is panting and pushing at his head. 

“Please, Shiro. _Please_.”

The request has him yanking at Keith’s jeans, pulling them just low enough for his leaking cock to spring free and bob against his belly leaving a wet trail of pre-cum that Shiro laps up immediately. He ignores how achingly hard he is in favor of letting Keith fuck his mouth, enjoying the tug of fingers in his hair, the way Keith pulls his knees towards his chest, back arching with a gutteral whine.

“Fuck! _Shiro, yes, yes, yes…_ ”

He moans around his mouthful focused only on the heavy weight on his tongue, the salt in the back of his throat, and the constant stream of noises that have him groping himself through his pants. Shiro moves his mouth faster, reveling in the shallow, rapid breaths until Keith bucks up and spills with a cry. He lets Keith’s cock slips between his lips watching as the last strings of cum pool in the hollow of his hip. 

Keith’s eyes are glassy and his flushed chest rises and falls as he breathes heavily but Shiro’s not going to give him time to recover. “Turn over.” The words come out like a command and when Keith seems incapable of following it quick enough, Shiro pulls him up and kisses his slack mouth sweetly before manhandling him so that he’s bent over and relying on his arms for support.

Shiro drapes himself along Keith’s back, hand reaching around to jerk his oversensitive cock which earns him a whimper. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he murmurs against the shell of his ear, hips pressing into Keith’s ass so he can feel how hard he still is. He almost misses the whispered “fuck me, Shiro” when Keith rocks back against him. 

He bites his lip and smooths his hand down Keith’s sides shoving his pants down over the swell of his ass to his thighs. 

“What was that?”

Keith’s breath is shaky when Shiro presses his thumb to his entrance. “Fuck me,” he repeats firmly.

Shiro drops to his knees and runs the flat of his tongue over Keith’s hole, hands tightening on his hips when he jerks with a groan. He licks into Keith, moaning at the tightness, alternating between fucking him with his tongue and dipping down to mouth at his balls. He can see Keith’s already getting hard again between his thighs as he babbles incoherent praise against the hood. He needs more. 

“Don’t move.” Shiro stands and circles the car, leaning through the open window into the glove compartment.

Keith watches through the windshield as he digs out lube and a condom. “Someone’s prepared.” 

“As many times as you’ve been in my car, you never knew it was there?” 

“I just drive the car, I don’t snoop.” 

“Oh, right because that would be rude.”

Keith flips him off but doesn’t hesitate to spread his legs as far as his pants will allow him to. Shiro dribbles lube over his fingers before sliding them over his spit-slickened hole, circling it teasingly. He leans down to kiss Keith’s shoulder blade when he slips the first finger in easily. He takes his time working Keith open, difficult as it is to not just sink into him.

By the time he’s got three fingers in him, Keith is fucking himself on Shiro’s hand, back arched as he holds himself up, chin turned over his shoulder so he can watch.

“Shiro, come on. Please, I need you.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Shiro grunts as he finally takes his cock in his hands, rolls the condom on, and coats himself generously with lube. He holds Keith steady by his hip and lines himself up, so pent up and on edge already that he nearly comes when Keith’s hole squeezes over the head. The heat is oppressive and he bites his lip, wincing, to keep from driving into Keith with force. He doesn’t even notice he’s been holding his breath until he’s buried to the hilt and gasps at how _good_ Keith feels around him. 

His hands slide along Keith’s hips and sides until his strained breaths even out. “Okay?” His voice comes out strained.

Keith nods. “God, yes. Fuck, I’m so… _full_. Feels so good.” He breaks off in a moan when Shiro slides out slowly and thrusts into him hard. 

Shiro’s body is burning, nerves buzzing, and it feels like he can’t breathe but his body moves of its own accord, hips snapping, grip bruising in the way he holds Keith down. He’s so tight. Nails drag angry red lines into his thighs as Keith tries desperately to pull him closer, collapsing to his elbow when he can no longer support himself one-handed. Keith rests his face along the matte black metal, cock starting to drool on the hood of the car. 

“Harder.”

The demand comes out as a rasp but Shiro complies, metal fingers curling over Keith’s shoulder for leverage. He adjusts his footing, changing the angle, and Keith cries out sharply. Shiro picks up the speed and aims for that same spot, heat coiling low and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. He reaches around and Keith practically sobs when Shiro starts to jerk him off roughly. 

“I-I can’t. Shiro, I ca-”

“You can.” Shiro brushes the dark hair damp with sweat out of the way and kisses the nape of his neck. “Come on, Keith. Come for me, baby.”

Keith’s orgasm rips through him violently, body tensing, and sends Shiro over the edge behind him as his hips struggle to stutter further as Keith squeezes him. His arms circle Keith’s torso, face buried in his neck when he grinds out Keith’s name between clenched molars. 

Tired as he is, he tries not to crush Keith beneath his weight as he catches his breath, legs unsteady. “Fuck,” he exhales harshly, breath ruffling the curls tickling his nose. Shiro lifts himself off, wincing as his cock slips free, and rolls to the side so he’s lying on his back across the hood, arms limp at his side and resting on his chest, wet cum-filled condom still wrapped around his softening length for all to see. 

He turns his head to the side and finds Keith flushed and smiling at him, cheek still smushed against the quickly cooling metal. Shiro grins back sleepily and starts to reach over to brush the hair out of Keith’s face but stops when he notices the pool of cum between them. Keith follows his gaze and they watch in silence as it starts to run slowly down the hood and into the grill. 

“Oof. Sloppy paint job, Keith.”

“Stop.”

“I’m disappointed.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“I don’t know how you find any work. Ouch!”

**Author's Note:**

> I learned some car shit I didn't know so that was a neat bonus but I still have little to no idea what I'm talking about. My car's gears come with an S and L option and God only knows what those do so that's where I'm at in case there are any glaring errors somewhere somehow.
> 
> Join me in yelling into the void about fictional characters on [twitter](https://twitter.com/princedeadend) and/or [tumblr](https://princedeadend.tumblr.com/).


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